Page 154 of Gemini Hunted
My big brother actually squirms in his chair, which is definitely a first. But he doesn’t seem unhappy. I mean, he literally seems the opposite. He shakes his head, then leans his forehead against Vasili’s shoulder and laughs softly. Vasiliplants a hand high on Ash’s thigh in casual possession, then delicately accepts another bite of cake from Lucius.
Ash is happy.
He’s really happy.
And, bizarrely, his new relationship with the Academy bully is one of the reasons for his happiness, along with Zara and Zephyr and Neo. Ash is even getting flirty with Ronin.
But then, everyone gets flirty with Ronin.
I sip a little more of my sparkling grape juice, savor the sweet bubbles foaming over my palate, and scan the well-dressed crowd dancing in the courtyard next to the turquoise oval of the pool. Mordred’s already wandered over barefoot to stick his webbed feet in the water, dimples flashing as he coaxes a few of the more adventurous guests into the shallow end.
He really does look like Jason Momoa in a tux (only pan), which makes him hard for most of the guests to resist.
The band is set up on a stage above the waterfall. The tunes are getting louder as the afternoon winds toward twilight. For some reason, Zephyr has instructed them to play only K-pop. (Plus he continually refers to them as minstrels.) In the pool beneath, bright green flashes across the shimmery surface as Zephyr’s dragon Xhevith overflies the party in a lazy spiral.
Xhev is providing security for the wedding. You know, just in case.
But there haven’t been any incidents, except for all the hordes of paparazzi he’s scared away.
Needless to say, Messalina isn’t here. The former Aquarius queen has abdicated with the Arcane Senate’s encouragement, vacated the royal palazzo in Venice, and used her pension to buy another yacht.
Nikolai Romanov is here on sufferance, as father of the groom, lurking around the periphery where he can watch and listen without really being noticed.
Theo Mercury was welcomed more warmly, since he’s officially one of Zara’s allies. Now the senator is gladhanding and working the crowd like the master politician he is.
Even Mick Gemini, Zara’s casino boss dad, has managed to suck up enough to Zara to score an invite. But Zara said a hard no when he offered to give her away at the altar.
To no one’s surprise, Cleo Ferrari is missing in action.
Ever since Paris Fashion Week (when she was literally on the cover of every couture magazine, looking annoyingly perfect), Cleo’s gone deep.
No one’s heard from her, not even a rumor, ever since. Even the considerable resources of the Mars clan mafia, Draco’s guys, can’t find her.
Draco says she’s off somewhere licking her wounds and we haven’t seen the last of her.
With the garter ritual successfully complete, Zara eventually hurries over to find me. My best friend (now sister-in-law) is absolutely radiant. Glowing with happiness in a sparkly strapless wedding dress that shows off her suntan and the pretty silver pigmentation on her forearms, skirts frothing around her feet in a purple so pale it’s nearly cream, accessorized with a sash in her signature teal tied around her still-tiny waist to emphasize her curves. Instead of a traditional tiara, she has the witching world crown (returned by Nikolai when Cleo conceded) perched on the teal curls swept high on her head. Her platinum lightning bolt earrings flash in her ears.
“Come on, Mal! I’m gonna do the bouquet toss before we vamoose for the wedding night. You don’t wanna miss it, believe me.” Flushed and gorgeous in the soft pastel cosmetics she’s chosen for today, Zara flashes me a playful grin and beckons me to follow.
The sparkly blue topaz ring her guys gave her, surrounded by a rainbow of eight colorful stones, glitters and winks in thesunlight. She loves that ring and told me each guy picked his own stone. Ash’s pick for her was moonstone.
Anyway.
Zara’s beingsoplayful right now that I really wonder if her Valyrian foresight is acting up again.
While my best friend rushes off to take her assigned place, I hurry to join Dez and Racetrack, my fellow bridesmaids, clustered in the courtyard under the second-floor balcony. Even though RT is rocking a deep purple tux and combat boots with her buzzcut instead of the lavender frocks and updos that Dez and I are wearing, and even though my fiery copper curls are frizzing and flying everywhere in the summer heat as usual, I think the three of us look pretty okay.
Zara appears on her second-floor bedroom balcony, whirls around dramatically so she’s facing away from us, then tosses the massive bouquet of cream and violet roses energetically over her shoulder. Streaming teal ribbons and bedizened with swan feathers (an embellishment chosen by Vasili), the bouquet sails majestically through the air.
Very clearly, it’s headed nowhere near me.
For no logical reason, because I’m not planning to get married anytime soon while I’m still a student, my chest tightens with a stab of disappointment.
Then the bouquet veers into a sharp ninety-degree turn, like it just cornered on rails—and lands right in my startled arms.
Clutching the fragrant bouquet to my chest and breathing in the scent of roses while the feathers tickle my cheeks, I blink around me at the circle of smiling faces and join in the fun with a surprised laugh of my own.
But I know telekinesis when I see it. I just don’t know who—
